


and it bakes in the bad sun

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bestiality Allusions, Chains, Cunnilingus, F/F, F/M, Face Sitting, Humiliation, Muzzling, Shame, Telepathy, Yaz definitely deserves better, conflicted feelings, we all know the Master is a mad dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:54:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Which is more terrifying? The mad dog, or the one keeping him chained up?
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan), Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 71





	and it bakes in the bad sun

**Author's Note:**

> The Master as a Mad Dog has been rattling around in my head a lot lately, and the most recent episodes cemented it. I have no idea how to classify this, other than weird and horny. I hope you enjoy it, regardless!

She should have used a different muzzle, in retrospect. There was something faintly obscene, the way his eyes glittered above the wire covering the lower part of his face. It had been the only one she'd been able to find on short notice (why did she have a muzzle like that in the first place?), and really, she should have dug up one that was more suited for a flat, Time Lord face. 

But to do _that_ , she'd have to take this current muzzle off, and she had a feeling if she did that he might bite one of her fingers off. Or at least, make a spirited attempt at it. He would smile at her sometimes, crouching close to the wall, the chain attached to the choke collar slack as he pressed his back into the brick, and she could see that some sort of plan was ticking away behind those eyes of his. 

She'd bound his hands together, and stuck them in restraining mittens, keeping his fingers out of commission, and she hadn't even left him with any trousers for modesty. He looked like some kind of feral animal in an old Earth zoo, crouching on concrete and snarling at the passersby.

Not that there were many. She was the only person on the TARDIS who knew how to find him, who knew he was here in the first place. Why had she rescued him in the first place? He was a mad dog, she _knew_ he was a mad dog, could smell it boiling out of his pores, see it in the crazed fever heat glazing over his eyes. 

The Master spoke to her sometimes, talked about things that she tried not to think about - talked about how Gallifrey burned, about the things he'd found out about her. All of those experiments performed on her, when she was too young to remember. All of those experiments he'd performed himself, in ways that made her stomach turn. He battered his mind against the boundaries of hers, and she did her very best to keep him out. 

She should have put him down. There wasn't any cure for a mad dog. She'd tried to fix him, tried to heal the fracturing splinters of his sanity, and look where it had gotten her. 

Where it had gotten Bill.

And yet.

She kept him chained up down here, she fed him (carefully), she bathed him (equally carefully). She made sure he exercised, mostly by leading him around the great old track she kept down here from back in the day when she had still loved racing, she tried to keep him occupied by giving him math problems or puzzles he could solve without using his hands. It was a bit too much like caring for a zoo animal. It helped, to think of him as a sick animal. He wasn't her old friend, he was an injured animal she'd found. A dangerous predator she'd rehabilitate and send back into its natural habitat, except she _couldn't_ send him back into his natural habitat, because he wanted to see the whole world destroyed, and dance in the ashes. She was just prolonging the life of a suffering animal, and he was a mad dog that she should have put out of its misery a long time ago.

A mad dog that she wasn't putting down, for whatever deluded reason she could come up with.

Which made what she was doing that much sicker.

* * * 

The Doctor had the chain attached to the Master's collar attached to a post in the center of the floor. He was on his knees, and he was naked, his cock standing at attention and pressing against his belly. He was shaking his head, and he was smiling at her behind his muzzle. 

"I don't know why you feel so guilty about this, Doctor," he purred, and she shouldn't have thought of that word, as she unfastened the manacles holding his hands together. He was still in the mittens, which rendered his hands as useless as if he was wearing boxing gloves. She'd spread a soft blanket onto the floor, to keep his knees from being abraded. She'd hobbled him, his legs chained up in such a way that he couldn't stand up, and he was just _looking_ at her, as she pushed her braces off of her shoulders, kicked her boots off. 

"Shut up," the Doctor said, possibly more harshly than she'd intended to, but, well... shame always made her snappy, and this shame was curdling in her stomach like bad milk. 

"If you want me to fuck you, you don't have to go through all this song and dance," the Master said, and he rattled the chains. His eyes were tracing up and down her legs, and he licked his lips behind the muzzle as she kicked her boxers off. "Or are you getting off on fucking an animal?"

"Shut up," the Doctor repeated, and she was faintly surprised at the venom in her own voice. Why was she doing this? It was a horrible idea, on so many different levels. So why was she so wet? Not just wet, but aching to be filled. Throbbing painfully around the emptiness inside of her. 

"Then again, you fuck humans," the Master said, and the Doctor could _feel_ his smirk. "I don't know why I'm so shocked that -"

"I said shut _up_ ," the Doctor snarled, and then she winced. That was louder than she had meant to be, angrier. 

The Master made a big show of whimpering like a dog, ducking his head down, although he was still grinning. It sent a sickening thrill of arousal through the Doctor's guts, and she hated it - and him - more than ever. 

She kept her eyes closed, as she got down on all fours in front of him, within reach. She had kept her shirt on, and that made it more perverse, somehow. She hadn't even bothered to get naked, just revealed the "relevant" parts, as it were. 

It was faintly tawdry. It felt like the kind of blue movie she had seen in a certain sort of place - the sort of place that the Master had taken her to, if it came down to it. She tried not to think bout that, tried not to think about _anything_ , as she waited, trembling. 

The wire of the Master’s muzzle was cold against her lower back, and his breath was hot against her sweaty skin. He was making animal noises, whines and growls, and his mind was pressing against hers in ways that made her queasy. 

The Doctor pressed her face into her forearms, presenting her ass,, and she waited. She kept waiting, her arms shaking, her thighs trembling, as her lower half grew cold, and the warmth of the Master’s body drew back. She was keenly aware of her own breathing, of the way her breasts were hanging down beneath her, the way her hearts were thundering in her ears. She was sweating, and the blanket she’d laid down was sticking to her knees. 

And she waited. 

There was something especially humiliating about this, about the way her shoulders were shaking, her arse in the air. She spread her legs a little wider, and she waited. She could feel him battering at her mind, trying to get in, even if he wasn’t touching her body, and she hated how much she _ached_ for him, deep inside. 

But nothing came. 

The Doctor got up on her arms, looking over her shoulder at the Master. He was sitting back on his heels, and he was staring at her with those fever bright eyes of his, grinning through his muzzle. 

“Can I help you?” His tone was silky - far too silky for someone who had been screaming as much as he had been. 

"You… I know you want it," the Doctor said, and she was blushing. "I can feel it." His desperate, angry lust was clawing at the walls of her mind, rubbing against her like an oily cat 

"You're making a lot of assumptions, Doctor," the Master said. How was he managing to look so smug, sitting there with an erection and chained down? "What makes you think I want you in the first place?"

"I know you do," the Doctor said. She was still so wet, so empty. She needed to feel his cock stretching her out, his hot, heavy body draped over her own. She was half convinced that he had planted the idea in her head, but… no. Her defenses were strong. 

He wouldn't have been battering himself against them if they weren't. 

"You're making a lot of assumptions, Doctor," the Master said. His cock was still hard, and she could make out the shiny trail of pre-come dripping down. 

"Stop playing games," the Doctor snapped. 

"Take me out of all this get up," the Master countered, and he gave a shimmy, the chains rattling. 

"I'd have to be mad to do that," the Doctor said flatly. "I don't trust you not to rip my throat out."

"But you trust me to fuck you," the Master said, and his grin went wide, his tongue lolling out like some terrifying illustration from a fairy tale. _My, what big teeth you have._

The Doctor didn't say anything, looked down at her hands on the green blanket. He was still trying to get into her mind, banging his fists on the walls she’d set up. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter, letting her mouth fall open as she took in deep, gasping breaths. She could smell him, musky lunacy crowding into the small space like so much smoke. 

“I want you to say it,” the Master said, and there was the wire muzzle pressing against her back. “Tell me what you want, Doctor, and I’ll give it to you.” He was close enough to her that she could feel his breath against her haunches. “Admit that you want to be _fucked_ by this mad dog.” He was on top of her now, and he was panting in her ear, his cock jabbing at her thigh, hot and smearing across her skin.

She gasped, and her arms gave in, as he leaned all of his weight on her. He couldn’t do much more than lean on her, as short as his chain was and as far from him as she was, but she could feel the desperate double pulse of his hearts against her back. “You’re mad,” she said.

He growled in her ear, and the wire of his muzzle was pressing into her cheek, as he panted onto her face. His breath was… unpleasant, to put it nicely. He licked her cheek, and his tongue poked awkwardly through the wire. He was chuckling, and it was resonating through his chest, buzzing across her skin. It was itchy, almost _ticklish_ , and she bit her lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds.

As if there could be any sounds more embarrassing than the slick, wet sounds of her cunt, as his cock passed over the line of her labia, caught on them, almost pressed into her, then slid along the crease of her thigh. 

“I want it,” the Doctor said quietly. She arched her back, pressing herself into him. She was still bowed forward like she was a

_bitch in heat_

supplicant before some great and terrible god.

“What do you want?” His sweat was soaking through her shirt, and he was still jabbing at her awkwardly, the bulbous head nearly catching on the rim of her hole. His mind was insinuating itself into hers, and she was letting him. 

That felt dirtier than the wet, sticky slide of his cock against her, filthier than the slick smeared across her thighs, mingling in with his pre-come. She let his mind into hers, and it was greasy and wet, smoothly thrusting into her. 

He didn’t make her say it. Maybe he didn’t have the self control, maybe whatever mechanisms kept his mind ticking and clicking along lost a vital component and it all went sideways. He pushed himself into her in one long thrust, and she howled into her arms, pushing herself back into him. It was foreign and familiar, and she shoved her own mind at his, as he shoved his body into hers. 

His mind was full of the sound of the drums, the sound of his hearts, the sound of her hearts, their harsh breathing filling up the tight space between the two of them. Tears were dripping down the Doctor’s face, and the Master was laughing, as his mitted hands scrabbled at her sides as he rutted into her. He pressed images into her head, and some of them were too disgusting for her to comprehend… so why was she getting wetter, why was she squeezing him tighter, as he pressed the wire muzzle into her neck. 

“Mad dog,” she managed to gasp out, and she shuddered as he pressed closer, jackhammering his hips. It wasn’t a particularly good fuck; in the old days, the two of them got up to quite a few erotic adventures. When she’d worn trainers and suits, she’d made the Master cry. She’d taken Missy’s sadism too, accepted the pain dished out by teeth and fingernails. The Master was coiling himself around her mind, and he was shoving his dick in and out of her, his pleasure a supernova on the edges of her awareness. 

She couldn’t come with him inside of her, she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction, and anyway, she didn’t think she could have an orgasm like this, but she might have _his_ orgasm, and then she’d be having her own, and what was she going to do if that happened, she might _die_ , she couldn’t -

“No,” the Master snarled, “no, you’re not going, you’re staying with me.” His mind seemed to grab at hers, and he scrabbled at her sides, his fingers harmless. His teeth snapped in her ear, and his hips worked faster. He was grunting, and he was sending her more images, messing with her bodily sensations. There was a moment where it seemed like there really was some great beast on her back, rank breath and hot fur. Then it was him again, and he was crooning to her, his hips moving in time with the beat of the endless drums.

She closed her mind to him. Slammed all the gates shut, stuffed up every keyhole. She was alone in her own head, and he was just a sweaty, heavy body over her own, moaning and sobbing. He came inside of her, and his cock was thick and throbbing as he released inside of her. She couldn’t feel his pleasure anymore, couldn’t sense the electric tingle of his nerves activating. 

He snarled again, and he yanked at the collar, tried to get deeper inside of her, tried to get their connection back. 

The Doctor pulled away, feeling him slip out of her. He was still hard, just barely going soft. His come dripped down her thigh, smeared across her leg, and then she was seated just out of reach of him. Her cunt was open and slick, and she was panting raggedly. 

The madness was shining out of his eyes, sickly as a bug zapper, and he was snarling at her, yanking at the chain. Every yank pulled his neck back, added to the bruises, gave him new ones. It was going to wreck his voice, if he kept that up.

She shouldn’t have liked seeing him like this, and she hated the savage _rightness_ that rose up when she saw him like this. 

“You’re just as bad as me,” he told her, with his choked, gasping voice. “I may be a mad dog, but you let one _fuck_ you.” He smiled savagely, and he made a big show of licking his lips. “Take this thing off of me, and I’ll finish you off.” He made a big show of licking his lips.

“You’re disgusting,” the Doctor snapped. He was bashing himself against the walls of her mind, and she was standing up on shaking legs. “I’ll be down later, with your dinner.”

“Sit on my face,” the Master said, and he made it sound so… depraved, and not a thing that loving partners did with each other. “I’ll make you come, Doctor.” And then his face turned into a rictus of rage and disgust. “Or are you going to go fuck one of your humans?” 

The Doctor froze, and she hated the way she was blushing. “What I do or don’t do is none of your business,” she told him, electing to sound haughty. It was immensely difficult to sound haughty when she was barefoot and bottomless, soaked with his sweat as his come ran down her thigh. 

The Master just laughed, and he was shoving a howling, snarling note into it, just to get under her skin. She could feel it working, worming its way through her as she made her way out of the room, carrying her boots and her trousers. At least she knew her fam wouldn’t be able to hear him.

She was still aroused, need pulsing through her. She needed to come, needed to quiet the desperation that was singing through her like frenetic energy. She might just die if she didn’t do something about it. 

At least she had ways of dealing with that. Ways that could be mutually satisfying, even!

* * *

“Doctor!” Yaz’s fingers tangled in the Doctor’s hair, and her hips ground forward, her voice breaking as she cried out again. “Oh, there, there, _there_!”

The Doctor licked up into Yaz’s soft, wet pussy, her tongue sliding inside the human, then out, to lap at Yaz’s clit. She was working her own clit desperately, her fingers still slippery with the Master’s come, with her own arousal, and she was gushing more, as Yaz kept crying out over her. 

Yaz yanked on the Doctor’s hair, and her thighs were going stiff on either side of the Doctor’s head. She was leaning forward, her belly pressing into the Doctor’s forehead, and her sweat was soaking into the Doctor’s hair, blotting out the scent of the Master.

The Doctor let herself luxuriate in the heat of a human body on top of her own, so alien in its warmth, with the spooky single heartbeat. She hollowed her cheeks out to suck on Yaz’s clit, and she let her own pleasure crash down on her. She arched her back, humping into her hand, and the images and sensations that flashed through her head were all muddled, mixes of companions, of the Master, of old lovers, old friends. She dived back in, bringing both hands up to Yaz’s hips to keep her human in place, and she licked with renewed vigour, intent on making Yaz come.

Yaz’s orgasm seemed to start in her toes - they went tight and stiff against the Doctor’s sides, and then her thighs were like marble, and her cunt pulsed against the Doctor’s mouth, her clit throbbing little messages in some unknown code that the Doctor wanted to spend who knew how much time deciphering. She flopped back, as Yaz leaned back on her sternum, and she looked up at Yaz and gave a dopey grin.

Yaz grinned back, her eyes crinkling up, her breasts heaving, lips and nipple swollen from the Doctor’s desperate kisses. “What brought that on?” She flopped onto the bed next to the Doctor, and interlaced their fingers. 

She wasn’t holding the hand that the Doctor had been using to masturbate, thankfully - none of the Master’s come would be in contact with Yaz. None of the Master’s _anything_ would be in contact with Yaz.

The memory of him rutting into her spread through her, and the sense memory of his cock inside of her made her shiver, her cunt squeezing around nothing.

“D’you want me to return the favor?” The fingers of Yaz’s other hand were ticklish as they skated across the sweaty skin of the Doctor’s bare chest, pausing to cup the Doctor’s breast, thumb her nipple. The Doctor’s hearts raced under her palm. 

The Doctor took Yaz’s hand in her own, and she kissed the back of it. “I’m all gross from working in the engines,” she said, which wasn’t strictly true, but wasn’t exactly a lie, either. The Master was kept in one of the old engine rooms, after all. 

“And you decided to come up here and ravish me?” Yaz stretched out luxuriously on her bed, and the sight of her lying bare like that made the Doctor’s mouth water. 

“I can’t help it,” the Doctor said, nuzzling into Yaz’s neck, taking in a deep whiff of all those human pheromones that left her faintly giddy. “You’re irresistible.” She only had the faintest pang of regret at lying… but did it even count as lying? Yaz _was_ irresistible. She’d come to fuck Yaz’s brains out loads of times without the Master being involved. This was almost the same, right? 

She could feel the Master’s mind, even this far away, pushing against her own. She added another mental wall, and she pressed a kiss to Yaz’s pulse point. The reassuring thud-thud-thud of Yaz’s single heartbeat was almost enough to drown out the howling of the Master as he tried to get back inside of her mind.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [and it bakes in the bad sun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137852) by [TheseusInTheMaze](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze)




End file.
